Tremble
by Satou17
Summary: Riku thought that Sora had beautiful hands. RikuSora.


Tremble

"Riku thought that Sora had beautiful hands."

Main Pairing: RS

--

Riku thought that Sora had beautiful hands. They were tan, with long, slender fingers. His palms were calloused from long days spent climbing trees and swinging keyblades. His nails were always clean, and kept short. Sora never bit his nails, so his cuticles, too, were picture perfect.

Though Sora's hands were physically very pretty, that wasn't the only reason Riku loved them. Sora's hands also did many wonderful things. They worked miracles over everything they touched- like a mother's kiss, they made everything seem so much better.

Sora's hands, like the boy who possessed them, could changed moods suddenly, and so very harshly. The Keyblade Master, Savior of the Earth, usually so sweet and gentle, also had such a cruel side to him. Riku didn't know when it happened, or how, but he did know why. To save the world, one had to be strong- both physically and emotionally. The smallest sign of love, sympathy, or tenderness could mean immediate suffering- or death. Riku knew Sora had to change, but it didn't mean Riku had to like it. To be honest, Riku kind of _hated_ this new cruel side of Sora. _Cruel_ Sora's eyes had none of _Riku's_ Sora's light to them. Cruel Sora's expression was tight, pinched. Unhappy. His features were sharper and more obviously defined. Cruel Sora's hands fisted so tightly that his knuckles were drawn white. His fingernails bit into his palms, leaving little crescent moon foot prints in the soft flesh. Sometimes, they broke the skin.

Riku knew this, hated this, and accepted this about Sora- but only because he loved the younger boy so much. Riku loved everything about Sora- everyone knew that. However, Riku also couldn't deny that there was one part of Sora that he loved most of all. Riku loved _his _Sora, the one who was almost as naïve and simple as he used to be back on Destiny Islands.

Sometimes, when the two were alone, together, Riku would sit down and lean back against a wall. Sora would sit down next to him, and would slowly doze off. Protecting the world, even when he wasn't actively fighting, took a lot out of the young boy. Times like those, Riku would slowly guide Sora lower and lower, until Sora's head was in his lap. Then, Riku would take his own hands (pale and scarred and ugly) and run them through Sora's perpetually uncombed locks. Sora would sigh, and his hands would splay out on Riku's knees. The tan fists- claws- (especially right after another Cruel Sora episode) would slowly unfurl as they gradually became hands again. Riku would pick up one of these beautiful hands, kiss it, and hold it in both of his own. Riku could then close his eyes and tilt his head back, soaking up as much sun as was offered. At times like those, it didn't matter where they were- in Agrabah, or Halloweentown, or at the pinnacle of the Himalayas. Or even if they were, again, at the End of the World, or at the Brink of Despair, it really didn't matter- at that point, Riku wasn't even there anymore.

Times like those, Riku could allow himself to remember how simple life was when they were still living on Destiny Islands. For a little while, at least, Riku remembered how to pretend. For a little while, at least, there was no such thing as Cruel Sora. For a little while, at least, Sora's hands were tough only from cracking coconuts and climbing palm trees and building rafts (none of this keyblade business, you hear). For a little while, at least, it was just Sora and him, and _nothing else._

Just as Riku was about to succumb to a deep and restful sleep, Sora's hand would twitch spasmodically, and the younger boy would twist and writhe and whimper. Riku's hands would grab one of Sora's clammy white fists, and comfort them. He'd whisper sweet nothings and rub Sora's back and slowly, slowly Sora would calm down again.

Riku wouldn't go back to sleep right away- he'd stay up and watch over the younger boy. He'd pick up one of the tan boy's hands- yes, they were hands again- and hold them in one of his own. He'd lace their fingers together and think about how pretty and perfect that looked.

_Then_ he'd go to sleep.


End file.
